


A Bit of Slap and Tickle

by galwednesday



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captain Ameribears, Fluff and Humor, Jerks in Love, M/M, Prank Wars, Soft Stucky Week, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tickle Fights, Troll Bucky Barnes, Troll Steve Rogers, bucky bears, honestly just troll everyone, this whole thing is ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galwednesday/pseuds/galwednesday
Summary: “Goddammit, Buck.” Steve groaned and propped himself up on one elbow, twisting his neck to look at the seat of his pants. “I landed right on the pizza. There’s pepperoni stuck to my ass.”“Looks good on you.” Barnes waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll lick it off if you want.”Steve fumbled through the wreckage of the table for a handful of napkins and threw them at Barnes’ face. “Buy me dinner first, jackass. Another dinner, since you ruined this one.”“You’re the one who sat on it.”“You tickled me!”“It’s combat training, Steve.” Barnes stretched his arms out and folded his hands behind his head, ignoring the napkins fluttering over his neck. “I’m doing this for your own good, you know. You’re Captain America. Gotta keep those reflexes sharp.”“Oh, is that how it is?” Steve rolled over Barnes, then flipped them both over so they were lying on the carpet instead of the splintered remains of the table. “Fine. Just remember, you started this.”“Bring it,” Barnes said, before stretching up for a kiss. (Soft Stucky Week fic featuring an escalating tickle war and an unnerving number of Bucky Bears.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Soft Stucky Week 2016](http://iamnotsebastianstan.tumblr.com/post/152264652360/hello-friends-so-i-made-this-post-saying-that), because who doesn't need more soft domestic shmoop and shenanigans? You can reblog and/or follow me on tumblr [here](https://galwednesday.tumblr.com/post/154816958958/a-bit-of-slap-and-tickle-galwednesday)!

Tony was knee-deep in a project (literally, since he was standing in the middle of a floor-to-ceiling holographic projection of the new quinjet engine design) when Sam Wilson knocked on the door to his workshop.

“Fantastic Sams!” Tony gestured and the quinjet hologram shrank down to the size of a baseball. “Why are you here and not in D.C.? Is it Tuesday already?”

“Nah, I finished up early. Got back a couple hours ago. Listen, I wanted to check in with you about something.”

“Are your wings still rattling when you bank on steep turns? Because I know you said you didn’t want the extra weight, but I could add a nano-stabilizer--”

“No, the wings are great, it’s just--” Sam hesitated. “Have you noticed anything weird lately?”

Tony blinked. “Last week, we flew to Cleveland to airlift a family of giant telepathic squids from the river while bystanders snuck past police barricades to take selfies with the tentacles. On Tuesday, half the team got hit by a de-aging gun, and I had to build a reinforced playpen sturdy enough to hold toddlers with super strength who refused to go down for a nap. Yesterday, Loki got cheesed off when Clint mocked his purple prose stylings and cast a spell that made everyone speak in limericks for three hours. You’re going to have to be a lot more specific.”

Sam ran a hand across his chin. “I’m concerned about Steve and Bucky.”

“I thought Capulet and Montagloom were doing better.” There had been some very rough days after Barnes had first come in, but he’d mellowed out a lot after a year of rooming with Steve and getting the best trauma therapy money could buy. He had even smiled at team movie night the other day. (At least, Tony thought it had been a smile. The corners of Barnes’ mouth had definitely twitched upwards. Possibly it had just been indigestion, but Barnes _had_ been looking at Steve at the time, so the odds of a smile were at least 2:1.)

“I thought so, too. But I went to see them this morning when I got back, and their apartment looks trashed. The couch is different, there are splinters everywhere, and there’s a huge patch of new plaster on the wall.”

“That’s...not a great sign.” Tony dismissed the quinjet program entirely and focused all his attention on Sam. “What’d they say about it?”

“When I asked Steve, he got all squirrely. Stammered something about tripping and putting an elbow through the wall. I tried to grill Bucky too, but he just gave me resting murder face until Steve got back from the bathroom. Something’s definitely up.”

Tony picked up a microcutter just to have something to fidget with. “You think he lost it and attacked Steve?”

“I’m not saying that,” Sam said, holding up both hands. “Maybe he just had a meltdown and punched the wall. Maybe _Steve_ had a meltdown and punched the wall. But I didn’t think either of them were doing that badly, and neither of them are admitting to having problems. That’s what’s really got me worried. If one of them is spiraling, and they’re both hiding it...”

“Yeah,” Tony said grimly. Nobody would come out of that scenario well. “JARVIS, how many instances of property damage occurred while Wilson was in D.C.?”

“Four, Sir,” JARVIS replied, “if the destruction of furniture fulfills the criteria.”

Sam and Tony winced in tandem. Four times in just two weeks? “Cue the tape for all four, J.”

“Yes, Sir.”

When Barnes had first moved in, he and Steve had agreed to 24/7 monitoring by JARVIS, in case of Winter Soldier outbreaks that might mandate an Avengers response. So far they’d only had false alarms, flashbacks and nightmares that sent the Soldier surging forward, but that Steve had been able to talk Barnes down from without any actual fighting. Even those incidents had gotten increasingly rare. The rest of the time, Barnes and Steve were appallingly lovey-dovey with each other; Tony had caught them holding hands under the dinner table more than once.

Which, actually, offered Tony a possible alternate explanation for the smashed furniture. “Wait, wait, wait. JARVIS, is the amateur demolition derby some sort of supersoldier mating ritual? Will the One-Armed Bandit punch me for seeing it?”

There was a thoughtful pause. “I do not believe so, Sir. The breakages occurred during periods of physical contact, but the contact does not appear to be sexual in nature.”

JARVIS had a pretty comprehensive grasp on human sexuality (he more or less lived on the internet), so if he judged that something wasn’t sexual, he was probably right. “Okay, play it.”

JARVIS projected the first surveillance clip onto the glass wall of Tony’s workshop. The camera was angled to show the dining room and a sliver of the kitchen. Steve was setting a pizza box on the table while Barnes grabbed two beers from the fridge. The whole scene was bafflingly domestic; they certainly didn’t _look_ like men on the brink of violence.

Steve leaned over the pizza box, flipped the cardboard lid up, and inhaled deeply, a big dopey smile spreading across his face.

He was distracted and off-balance, entirely unguarded. Barnes looked up, saw Steve’s position, and set the beer bottles down silently on the kitchen counter. He crept up behind Steve (Tony heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath, felt his own heart rate kick up) and reached out with both hands to--

To dig his fingers into Steve’s ribs, tickling mercilessly.

Steve squeaked and whipped around, grabbing Barnes’ wrists. The sudden momentum was too much for his precarious balance. He toppled over backwards, crashing into the table and dragging Barnes down with him. The table, not having been built to withstand 500 pounds of supersoldier wrecking ball, collapsed under them, legs snapping and buckling as the wooden tabletop cracked in half.

There was a moment of utter stillness, both on the footage and in Tony’s workshop. Then Barnes rolled off of Steve, picked a splinter out of his hair, and looked at it contemplatively. “Whoops.”

“Goddammit, Buck.” Steve groaned and propped himself up on one elbow, twisting his neck to look at the seat of his pants. “I landed right on the pizza. There’s pepperoni stuck to my ass.”

“Looks good on you.” Barnes waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll lick it off if you want.”

Steve fumbled through the wreckage of the table for a handful of napkins and threw them at Barnes’ face. “Buy me dinner first, jackass. Another dinner, since you ruined this one.”

“You’re the one who sat on it.”

“You tickled me!”

“It’s combat training, Steve.” Barnes stretched his arms out and folded his hands behind his head, ignoring the napkins fluttering over his neck. “I’m doing this for your own good, you know. You’re _Captain America_. Gotta keep those reflexes sharp.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Steve rolled over Barnes, then flipped them both over so they were lying on the carpet instead of the splintered remains of the table. “Fine. Just remember, you started this.”

“Bring it,” Barnes said, before stretching up for a kiss. JARVIS discreetly cut to black.

“Oh, shit,” Sam said.

“Did he just _dare_ Steve Rogers?”

“Here’s the thing nobody understands about Bucky Barnes,” Sam said heavily. “You ever heard their little parting exchange about being stupid?”

“‘Don’t do anything stupid until I get back’?”

“Exactly. Everyone thinks Bucky’s saying _be careful._ What he’s actually saying is _wait for me, I want to play too._ Let me tell you, raiding Hydra bases with that duo is an _experience_.”

The second clip started in the living room. Barnes was zonked out on the couch, one arm sprawled above his head and the other clutching a fuzzy throw blanket to his chest. His feet, clad in fox-printed slipper socks, were propped up on the opposite arm. He was snoring loudly.

Steve ghosted through the doorway, every step slow and deliberate, weight perfectly balanced. He drifted towards the couch, intently focused on Barnes.

“See, this is the kind of stealth we could use in the field,” Tony complained. “If he actually knows how to sneak up on people, why does he always crash through the window shield-first on missions?”

“It’s his way of identifying the bad guys. If they shoot him, they’re fair game.”

“Has he ever considered not getting shot at at all?”

“I don’t think that’s crossed his mind, no.”

Steve had completed his silent stalk. He crouched by the couch end for a breathless moment, then struck cobra-quick, fingers dancing over the soles of Barnes’ feet.

Barnes yelped and flailed with his whole body, every limb shooting out as he starfished. Steve executed an impossible backflip to jump clear of Barnes’ instinctive kick, but the couch wasn’t so lucky. One solid punch from Barnes’ metal arm knocked the couch back clean off and sent it crashing down. An instant later, the armrest by his feet caught a blow from his feet and sailed halfway across the room. What was left of the couch tilted at an odd angle and dumped Barnes onto the living room rug.

Steve, safely removed from the chaos, was leaning against the doorway and watching with smug satisfaction. Barnes squinted at him blearily, then sighed and let his head thunk back down to the floor.

“You little shit,” Barnes said, sounding remarkably relaxed for someone who had just kicked a couch to death. “Assaulting a man during his afternoon nap, Steve? Is nothing sacred?”

“Gotta keep those reflexes sharp, Buck.” Steve sauntered over with his hands jammed in his pockets. “Or you could call a truce.”

“Ten bucks says he doubles down,” Sam said immediately.

“No bet,” Tony said, just as fast.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Barnes said dryly. He rolled on his side to face Steve, the motion slow and languorous. The second Steve stepped closer, Barnes surged forward and went for the backs of Steve’s knees.

Steve made an undignified, high-pitched “meep!” noise and bolted. Barnes gave chase, and the surveillance feed caught the sound of muffled thumps and laughter before switching to the next clip.

The third clip was grainy and green-tinted, clearly recorded at night. There was the muffled sound of a toilet flushing and water running before the bathroom door opened. Steve, looking mostly asleep, ambled out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

He was completely unprepared for Barnes to drop down from the ceiling behind him, hands unerringly targeting Steve’s armpits.

Steve _shrieked_ and leapt three feet into the air like a startled cat. He slammed into the wall butt-first, smashing a hole and toppling right through it. He landed on his back in the bedroom, knees caught on the hole in the wall, the heels of his feet resting on the hallway floor. Barnes froze in place, staring at Steve through the new hole.

Steve picked his head up, gave Barnes a bewildered look over his knees, and sneezed. A huge cloud of plaster dust mushroomed up from his chest.

Barnes stood with his mouth open for one more frozen instant, then collapsed, absolutely _howling_ with laughter. He rolled back and forth on the floor, body spasming with helpless giggles. Every time he seemed like he was winding down, Steve would sneeze or another chunk of wall would fall and it would set him off again.

“Wow,” Sam said. “I’ve never seen Bucky laugh like that.”

“I’ve never seen Barnes _laugh_. JARVIS, how long does this go on?”

“Four minutes and forty-two seconds, sir.”

“Jesus. Skip to the last one, J.”

The last clip showed the same camera view as the third. Steve and Barnes had spread a tarp down over the hallway carpet and were working on fixing the wall, starting with anchoring a wooden scaffold to fill the hole. They each supported one side of the scaffold while the plaster at its base it dried and hardened.

Steve slid a sideways look at Barnes, then took one hand off the scaffold to wipe a smear of plaster down Barnes’ nose.

“Really?” Barnes was doing resting murder face, but Steve seemed unfazed.

“It looks good on you.”

Barnes sniffed. “Pal, I make everything look good.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, unexpectedly soft. His teasing expression shifted into something warm and fond. “You really do.”

“Maybe you should try some,” Barnes suggested helpfully. “It might improve that mug of yours.”

“Bucky,” Steve said warningly. “Don’t you d--”

Barnes lunged for him, rubbing plaster-covered hands all over Steve’s shirt and anywhere else he could reach. Steve squawked and toppled over backwards, bringing his elbows up to cover his face.

Leaving the scaffold entirely unsupported.

“Seriously?” Sam said, throwing up his hands. “Seriously.”

Tony shook his head in wonder. “Greatest strategic thinker of our time. Except when Barnes is involved, apparently.”

Inevitably, one of the two nonagenarians bumped the still-setting patch job--Tony couldn’t tell from this angle whether it was Barnes’ knee or Steve’s elbow, but he felt comfortable blaming both of them either way--and the scaffold, plaster and all, swung out from the wall and crashed into the bedroom, demolishing an end table in the process. Steve and Barnes jerked apart at the noise and sat up to stare at the newly re-opened hole in the wall.

Steve smacked his own forehead, leaving a giant plaster handprint across his face and hair. “Goddammit.”

“I never liked that table.” Barnes grabbed Steve’s shoulders and pressed him up against the nearest intact section of wall. He climbed into Steve’s lap, twining both hands behind Steve’s neck. Steve raised eager hands to Barnes’ hips and the feed cut to black.

“The following footage is redacted due to privacy protocols, Sir,” JARVIS said primly.

“Gross,” Tony said. That look Steve had given Barnes, that soft smile he’d worn before the plaster fight broke out--that was the happiest by far that Tony had ever seen Steve. Just thinking about it kindled a warm, tingly sensation in Tony’s chest.

It was probably heartburn, he decided. He really needed to lay off the chili dogs.

“Well,” Sam said casually. “I guess that explains the secrecy.”

“This is good, right? They weren’t hiding any deep-dark torments, they just didn’t want to admit to having no-holds-barred tickle fights.”

Sam’s eyes were gleaming with delight. “Must have thought we’d take advantage of knowledge like that.”

Tony scoffed. “I don’t know whatever gave them that impression. On an entirely unrelated note, JARVIS, put in a rush order for Tickle-Me-Elmos. Five dozen? Ten dozen? Tell you what, make it an even two gross.”

“Hold up.” Sam raised a finger. “Get the same number of Bucky Bears and Captain Ameribears as Elmos, then switch out the voice boxes.”

“Wilson,” Tony breathed, “you are an evil genius.”

“Thank you, Tony. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“I resemble that remark. You heard the man, J. That’s two hundred and eighty-eight Elmos, and one hundred and forty-four each of the serum squad.”

JARVIS sighed. That wasn’t anything Tony had ever taught him to do, but JARVIS liked to pick up new traits from the Tower’s occupants to widen his range of emotional expressiveness. This sigh sounded like one of Bruce’s particularly long-suffering ones. “If you insist, Sir. They’ll be in your lab awaiting thoracic surgery by this evening.”

“Wilson,” Tony said, swinging an arm over Sam’s shoulders. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  


* * *

 

Steve woke to lips nuzzling his ear. He was smiling before he even opened his eyes. “G’ mornin’, Buck.”

“Morning, Steve.” Bucky gave him a long, thorough kiss. “You taste awful.”

“So do you, asshole,” Steve said, entirely without heat. He kissed the tip of Bucky’s nose just to watch his face scrunch up. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

Steve rolled out of bed, stretched, and shuffled into the hallway. His eyes were still mostly closed, which was why he didn’t see the obstacle on the floor until he’d already stepped on it. He opened his eyes to see a teddy bear dressed in his costume--a Captain Ameribear, that’s what Pepper had called them during the merchandising briefing--under his foot.

Steve stared down at the bear, nonplussed, only to jerk his foot back when the bear squeaked “That tickles!!!”

“Wuh?” Steve asked the bear. It gave no further response.

Steve looked up and jumped again. The apartment was _covered_ in bears, both Captain Ameribears and Bucky Bears. There were bears sitting on the couch with buckets of popcorn. Bears on the bookshelf tucked under tiny blankets. Bears nestled into the kitchen cabinets with boxes of teddy grahams held between their paws. Bears dangling jauntily from the ceiling on miniaturized rappelling gear. _Bears. Bears everywhere_.

“Steve?” Bucky called from bed.

Steve could only stand and stare. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Steve? What’re you--” Bucky staggered out of the bedroom, unbrushed hair half covering his face, only to stop dead as soon as his gaze swept the apartment. “What the _fuck_.”

Wordlessly, Steve reached out and picked up the nearest Bucky Bear. He gave it a tentative squeeze.

The bear vibrated and emitted an alarming synthetic giggle. Steve bobbled the bear and instinctively threw it across the room like it was a live grenade. It landed on a pile of bears heaped on the living room rug, setting off a chain reaction of unholy cackling that seemed to fill the whole room with mocking laughter.

Bucky looked at the apartment with utter horror. “Nope,” he said. “Nope, nope, no way, I didn’t get defrosted for this shit.” He backed into the bedroom, keeping a wary eye on the bears the whole time like they might get up and give chase.

(Ten floors away, Sam Wilson and Tony Stark turned away from the live surveillance feed to exchange a triumphant fist-bump.)

Steve decided that, for once in his life, retreat was an acceptable outcome. He followed Bucky, slammed and locked the door behind them, and collapsed back into bed. Bucky wrapped an arm around his side and drew him in snug against Bucky’s chest.

“We’ll have to do something about them eventually, Buck,” Steve felt obliged to point out, but he snuggled deeper into the blankets, basking in the solid line of warmth behind him. “We have to get out of bed sometime.”

“No, we don’t.”

“You sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.” Bucky’s lips brushed the back of Steve’s neck.

“Hmm,” Steve said thoughtfully. He rolled onto his stomach to give Bucky easier access. “You make a compelling argument.”

“Sweetheart, I got compelling arguments like you wouldn’t believe.” Bucky slid Steve’s shirt up so he could kiss a line down Steve’s spine.

Bucky spent the rest of the morning being very, very persuasive.


End file.
